


rainy day

by mikkal



Series: sleeping at last (oct '19) [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Violence, Chronic Pain, Gun Violence, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character Death(s), Swearing, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 13:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20949119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: Vyv asks the bros to take a photo of a Royal Tomb. Which, you know, two birds one stone: gil for the group, a Royal Arm for Noctis.Except, when is anything ever that easy?Whumptober day 5: Gun point





	rainy day

**Author's Note:**

> I am officially behind in Whumptober, but I'm just gonna keep trudging along!
> 
> I /will/ reply to all the comments on any of my whumptober fills. I'm just very, very behind...and also terrible at replying. I'm so sorry.

It’s raining in Duscae. Again.

Surprise!

Noctis’ back and leg ache like a sonovabitch and he would love nothing more than to crash at the Leville and sleep for a week. Hell, he would even be willing to stoop to a motel bed or a camper. Just no more Havens, _please_. But no, that’s not how this works. They’re low on funds and low on curatives and lucky enough that Vyv has a photo request for the best photographer on the continent.

So here they are, picking through brush and rocks in the Fallgrove, keeping an eye out for the tell-tale signs of a Royal Tomb. Honestly, if you subtract the weather and the pain and the fact they couldn’t take the smooth path because of some company of Niffs dropped down, Noctis is pretty excited. _A Royal Tomb_. He could be getting another Arm any minute now!

Maybe that will mean Gladio _and _Cor will get off his back. It’s not his fault he only has three so far. The world is a vast place, there have been one-hundred-and-thirteen kings so that means just as many Tombs. Ignoring the fact that his dad won’t have a Tomb—oh and doesn’t that hurt—that still leaves 109 left for him to find and claim.

He only needs thirteen Arms to reach full Ascended status, according to tradition and legend. He hopes they’re not all hard to get, maybe he’ll even strive for fourteen just because. He’s supposed to be the King of Kings or whatever, he should have as much power as he can to ‘bring the light back to our star’ so says Lunafreya and the various voices that whisper through his worst nightmares.

So, distracted as he is, Noctis misses the giant tree he swears wasn’t there a second ago (not realizing he hasn’t been walking in a straight line and veered off enough that technically, yeah, the tree wasn’t there a second ago). He slams headfirst into it, reeling back as pain explodes across his face. He tastes blood in his mouth, having bitten his cheek.

Prompto chokes on a laugh. “Dude, did you just—?”

“Not a word!” he hisses

Noctis winces, covering his face with both hands, prodding his nose with a thumb to check the state of it. Not broken, good. Just a throbbing mess of bruises now. Ignis and Gladio haven’t noticed, ahead of them and talking in hushed tones. Prompto, even though he’s laughing at him, hovers at his side, a pinch of worry in his expression.

“I’m fine,” Noctis tells him. His voice doesn’t even sound funny. If he’s careful he can breathe through his nose, though it takes too much effort. Prompto reaches and shakes his shoulder. Noctis shrugs off the touch, grimacing at the hurt look flashing across his face. “Sorry,” he mutters. It’s not Prompto’s fault he touched the shoulder that seems to have a live-wire connection straight down his back and through his leg. That single touch was almost agony.

After a second, understanding dawns. “You okay?” he asks equally as quiet. “We can double back and stay at a Haven.” Noctis scoffs. “…or not. Is it that bad?”

“It’s fine,” he replies, brushing it off just as easily as he did the hand on his shoulder. “C’mon. Maybe by the time we make it the rain will stop for a good shot.”

He stalks off, doing his best to ignore the pronounced limp that’s taken hold of him, and, after a moment, Prompto follows. They linger in the back still, keeping an eye out for any gigantoads that like to appear when it’s rainy, but the walk is uneventful.

Until the finally make it to the Tomb. Noctis squints through the tree line, considering.

“Isn’t Costlemark over there?” he asks, pointing.

Ignis glances over, narrows his eyes. “I believe so, yes.” Except, the Solheim ruins aren’t visible from where they are and Noctis is known for his atrocious sense of direction. He’s gotten them lost how many times in caverns and mines and what have you? “What happened to your face?”

Prompto snickers behind a hand. Noctis glares at him then rolls his eyes as Ignis grabs his chin to turn his head this way and that, trying to catch the meager rays of light escaping through the storm clouds. It really is only bruising, Ignis realizes, and there’s nothing for him to see so he doesn’t even know about the tender bite on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m afraid the weather might hinder your ability to take a decent photograph, Prompto,” he says, still staring intently at Noctis’ face. At least he’s let go now. Noctis works his jaw even though the grabbing hadn’t hurt. Something pops and some of the tension in his face lessens. “Perhaps we should stay at a Haven until the weather clears up.”

Prompto hesitates, camera already in hand. They’re at the back of the Tomb and it takes every inch of will power Noctis has not to climb over the domed roof just because he can. He glances at Noctis, fiddles with some settings, and shakes his head.

“Nah, I think it adds to it,” he announces. “A gloomy atmosphere for a gloomy picture. The grave of a king.”

Ignis nods absently. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks Noctis quietly. When he gets a shrug in response he frowns. “Noct…”

“Let’s get this over with,” he says. He sounds grumpier than he actually is, but he just doesn’t want to deal with Mother Hen Iggy right now. His face hurts, his body hurts, and he’s soaked to the bone. At this point he still won’t do a Haven, but a camper would be _awesome_. “Photo for Vyv. Royal Arm for me.”

“Then cha-ching, we’ll be sleeping on real beds tonight!” Prompto chirps.

Gladio snorts. “Easy there, big spender. We’ve gotta get potions and gas before we even think about where we’re sleeping.”

They’re bantering, Prompto and Gladio, as the four of them circle the Tomb to the entrance. Noctis slows his pace as a muscle cramp grabs his bad thigh and takes it for a ride. He refuses to stumble, refuses to stop, and just digs a thumb into the spot, gritting his teeth. Of course, this means he falls back behind the group again.

Of course, this means he feels the cold press of a gun muzzle against the base of his skull and hears the familiar click of a safety releasing. He freezes, breaths coming shallowly, his eyes widening. The guys haven’t noticed yet.

“Hello there,” the man behind him says, a smirk in his voice. “What’re y’all doing all the way out here?”

Not Niflheim, he guesses. A hunter, from Leide if the accent means anything. Noctis strains to hear past the rain and the thunder, but there’s a set of two more footsteps cracking through the undergrowth. Someone must’ve gone ahead.

“We don’t mean any trouble,” Noctis grits out. “Just lookin’ for a hunt.” He keeps his voice low, steals some of Holly’s accent to make his sound less Insomnian ‘elite,’ and thanks whoever’s listening that he’s wearing something other than his Crownsguard uniform today even though he kept the braced glove on his left arm.

“Now, see, I’d believe you if it weren’t that the only hunt for these parts is the one _we_ have,” the hunter says, far too amused. The gun presses harder, urging Noctis forward towards the stone platform surrounding the Royal Tomb. “You boys aren’t here to ransack the Tomb, are you? Because I’m afraid we’ve called dibs on that too.”

“Noct, no luck—Who the hell are you?” Gladio growls. Thankfully he doesn’t call up Hardedge. His words draw Ignis’ and Prompto’s attention and they step away from the Tomb’s stairs. “Drop the gun,” he demands.

Noctis winces as the hunter scrapes the gun muzzle from the cushion of his hair down his bare neck over the knob of his spine. He hits a nerve and something spasms in his back. Noctis sucks on a pained gasp, his spine arching just a little. The hunter doesn’t notice.

“I think not,” the man says. His buddies come around the corner of one of the stone walls that stand sentinel on either side of the path’s end. “I heard there’s a mighty hefty sword somewhere around here and I ain’t letting anyone take it from us.” He grins, leans to leer over Noctis’ shoulder. “Should fetch a pretty gil, don’t cha think?”

Ignis bristles. “You would sell a Royal Arm for _money_?” he hisses.

One of the new hunters, a woman, shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like the Insomnians ever did anything for us. Besides, who’s gonna use it? Last I heard the king _and_ his hellspawn are dead.” The other hunter grunts and spits on the ground.

…hellspawn? Well, that’s a new one. Noctis isn’t sure how he feels about it. He knows there’s always been a bit of, well, trepidation about the royal family and the power they could wield. A number of anti-crown groups had their beliefs set more in anti-magic and then there were the ones who were perfectly fine with the monarchy and were just plain anti-magic.

This gives him more reason not to call something from the armory. Gives him more reason not to grab the coin from his pocket and use it to warp. If he moves, suddenly or otherwise, if he shows that the Lucian heir is still alive, who’s to say they won’t shoot his friends for dead now that he’s no longer in their clutches?

“Won’t do you any good,” Gladio says. He locks gazes with Noctis and doesn’t relax when his prince nods in reassurance. “The doors are bust open. Someone got here before any of us.”

Well…_fuck_.

“You think we’re just gonna believe you?” the gun-toting Hunter says. He grabs Noctis’ wrist and twists it painfully behind him and rears back to shove the gun even harder against his spine. Noctis can’t stop the pained whimper cracking through his lips and the hunters’ bloodlust rises to almost palpable standards. The man chuckles. “Interesting,” he murmurs, then louder says, “Now if y’all wouldn’t mind stepping aside. Your buddy and I are gonna take a look.”

Ignis is incandescent with rage. Noctis doesn’t think he’s ever seen his advisor this pissed off before, at least not since they left Insomnia. There had been a few incidents here and there back then that made Ignis tremble with a fury unlike anything else, but those were usually situations Noctis hadn’t been present for and was told after he was rescued from whatever kidnapping or hostage thing he’d been caught up in.

“I don’t think so,” Ignis all but snarls.

“_Ignis_,” Noctis says sharply. When he looks, Noctis shakes his head firmly. Ignis backs down but he doesn’t look happy about it. Once this is over, he’s probably going to get a lecture.

He can’t risk it. Noctis can’t risk his friends getting hurt because of some greedy hunters after one of his family’s legacies. That’s not how this is going to work. Who cares if it’s four against three and the four have magic on their side? If they pick a fight, that’s just going to make things worse.

“Thought so,” the hunter holding Noctis says. “Keep them herded,” he throws to his companions as he not-so-gently shoves Noctis forward. But because he’s still being twisted into painful contortions all he does is stagger and stumble. It tears at his already tormented body. “Wow, y’all talk real big for you to be acting like this,” he comments casually over Noctis’ whines.

Noctis loathes showing this weakness in front of complete strangers—hell, he has a tough time showing it in front of his _friends_. Especially Prompto, who’s seen him at his most depressed and apathetic, but the weakness of his body and the trauma that still lingers more than a decade later is something he never wanted to burden the only friend he made on his own with.

“If you don’t move. I’m going to have _my _friends shoot _your_ friends.”

So, Noctis moves. Gladio and Ignis step to the side, their anger and helplessness practically radiating off of them, and Noctis can’t help but notice Prompto’s absence. He quirks an eyebrow at his two friends, but neither of them can respond as the other two hunters step up with their weapons trained on them.

He thanks someone, whoever, probably Ramuh since it’s storming, that no one’s questioned where their fourth member is. That’s what he focuses on to block out the pain walking brings, the question of _where is Prompto_? Every step is like lightning cracking through his nerves. Every breath, even, is a smoldering fire as it pulls on his shoulders and trickles down his spine.

They should’ve gone to the Haven.

Gladio was right, the doors to the Tomb are missing. The inscription at the top of the doorframe is faded from the elements, but Noctis can still make out, written in Old Lucian annoyingly enough, the words: _Here Lies the Power of the Kings. Here Lies the Sword of the Tall for Whom May Be Worthy. Long Live Magnus Lucis Caelum the Dynast King. _You know, standard stuff. It’s the same words on every Tomb, details tweaked to represent what is inside.

This is the Tomb of the Tall and it’s empty.

The hunter swears viciously and shoves Noctis away. He trips over a broken stone and crashes into the pedestal that secures the sleeping statue that should be holding the Arm. He misses the edge, his hands slip, and he snaps his chin against the rim of the pedestal on his way down. Blood blossoms in his mouth, on the underside of his chin. His jaw cracks painfully, the ache in his face triples.

Noctis hits the ground hard, jarring his knees, and the force of it grabs hold of his spine to twist into tangles. He cries out, the blood in his mouth speckling the stone. It gushes over his lips and mixes with the blood on his chin.

“Ifrit’s balls,” the hunter spits. There’s shouting outside in response to Noctis’ cry, but no one’s bursting in yet.

The hunter swears again and kicks something. Noctis thinks, for a moment, that the guy is just going to stalk out of here and leave them alone. After all, they never gave names. It’s also impossible to, like, take someone to court. Assault isn’t something someone can be charged for out here. It’s a take-the-law-into-your-own-hands kind of world.

He’s thinking that, until a boot comes crashing down on the small of his back.

Noctis _screams_, collapsing to the ground. His vision blacks out, bile rises to his throat at the sheer amount of _pain_ that explodes and ricochets throughout his body. He lays there, tucked under the pedestal of his ancestor, curled up in a tiny ball that’s not good for his back, but the sheer agony he’s in makes it so he doesn’t care. Tears stream down his cheeks and he sobs sharply into his knees.

There’s more shouting—Ignis and Gladio—and the sound of two rapid-fire gunshots that echo in the wooded area. The hunter growls and grabs Noctis, yanking him out of his ball and keeping him up. His whines pitch towards keening as he claws at the hand around his bicep, unable to fully grasp what’s going on through the pain and the tears and the confusion.

“You come in here and I blow his brains out!” the hunter hollers. Noctis flinches against the noise, sagging. The stranger hefts him up then drops him, catching him with an arm around Noctis’ throat instead, chin resting on the crook of his elbow, the cold metal of the gun pressed to his temple.

Silence reigns. Noctis’ knees buckle, staggering the hunter, but other than that, no one moves. He hears the pitter-patter of footsteps above them then a flash of red outside the Tomb. Prompto. That’s Prompto, he’d snuck behind the Tomb while they were all talking and climbed to the top before taking aim. That means—oh, _ha_. Noctis gave him the Cerberus rifle they took from a Niff base. Not a great thing, to use what is essentially a sniper rifle at such close range, but it worked.

“Your buddies are dead,” Noctis slurs out. The press of the gun grinds harder. He laughs, something low and care-free and he knows it makes the hunter uneasy, having his bloodied hostage so lackadaisical about everything. “I would stop if I were you.”

“Shut up,” he hisses.

Noctis laughs again then coughs when blood goes down the wrong way. Not that there’s a right way, he can already feel his stomach getting queasy from the amount of blood he’s ingested by accident. It splatters the guy’s arm and he can feel him flinch. Noctis licks his lips, not even noticing how they’re covered in crimson, it’s nothing compared to what’s in his mouth. His vision still spots on the corner of his eyes.

He’s going to have to talk to Prompto after this. It’s not the first time his friend’s taken a life unfortunately, but it’s still going to hit him hard.

For now, though, he sighs and wiggles his fingers. Well, better late than never.

Noctis summons a single Assassin’s Dagger into his hand. He’s shaking something fierce but manages to twist his wrist without cutting himself on the poisoned blade. Carefully, so very carefully, he slides the dagger’s blade true into the gut of the hunter. He gasps into Noctis’ ear, arm tightening momentarily before loosening as the pain registers, and he stumbles back.

“You little shit,” the hunter breathes out, hand pressed against the wound. Blood spills between his fingers and already his face is pale.

Noctis grins. It’s a ghastly sight, blood smeared on his teeth, across his face. He catches himself on a broken pillar and slides down, jacket tearing on sharp pieces, until he sits sprawled on the ground. The hunter looks confused, gun loose in his grip, glancing from his wound to the dagger still in Noctis’ hand.

“…how?” he asks. One knee crashes to the ground.

He raises the dagger and quickly banishes it to the armory. It disappears in a shatter of light blue soul crystals. The hunter stares his now empty hand, eyes wide, and something like fear flickering across his expression.

“Caelum,” he murmurs.

Noctis chokes on his laugh. “Noctis Lucis Caelum,” he elaborates, “at your service.” He raises an eyebrow at the sheen of sweat on the hunter’s brow and the way his breathing picks up. His other knee crashes down and he pitches over sideways with a groan. “Or, at your service for now.”

The gun clatters to the ground. “Fuck you,” the hunter says. “_Fuck you_, Prince Noctis.”

“King, technically,” Noctis replies. His vision is starting to go black again, the spots encroaching from the edges. The pain’s reached the point where he thinks it’s gone or he’s numb, until he moves and it flares to life. He’s clammy, his hair curling and sticking along his jaw. “The 114th to be exact. And the rightful owner to the sword you tried to steal.”

The hunter groans again, looking green. “Fuck. You.”

“You’ve said that.”

He doesn’t know where all this sarcasm is coming from, but it feels kind of good. Keeps his mind off the fact he just, you know, stabbed a guy with a poison dagger and is letting him die slowly. If he thinks about it even a little bit, he might actually be sick. At least with a gun, if you aim properly, it’s one and done. This…This is too much. Noctis squeezes his eyes shut and covers his face with a trembling hand.

“Coward,” the hunter whispers. And, yeah, that’s probably true. Can’t even watch.

Then, nothing. The sound of his breathing ceases. Noctis can only hear the roar of blood in his ears and thunder crashing in the distance. He hopes the guys can see the dead hunter through the door, he doesn’t have enough energy to shout for them.

Sure enough, Ignis rushes into the Tomb not even a minute later, his Orichalcum daggers in hand. He skids to a stop, momentarily confused at the sight of the dead body, but he whirls around, banishing his weapons as he does so, and crashes to his knees next to Noctis.

“Astrals,” he breathes, reaching to touch Noctis’ face only to hover awkwardly without making contact.

“Did Prom get the pic?” he mumbles, leaning forward to do the work for his advisor. Ignis swears when his cheek touches his glove and blood stains the leather, but he’s not swearing about the mess.

Ignis reaches into the ether and pulls out a curative, grimacing when he realizes it’s a mere potion and not the hi-potion Noctis actually needs. “Forget about the photograph, Noct,” he says. He cracks the bottle, the glass dissolving into green and settling over Noctis like a blanket. He carefully tilts Noctis’ head up, inspecting his chin. “He really did a number on you.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. “I killed him,” he says thinly.

Ignis sighs. “I know,” he replies softly. “I’m sorry it had to be you.” He brushes his other hand through his prince’s hair. If Prompto’s killed before and it still hits him hard, then Noctis is in the unique position where he’s never killed another human being on purpose. “Let us get you out of here. I’m sure Jared will accommodate us at the Leville for a bit, as long as we pay him back.”

But Noctis whines when Ignis tries to help him up. The advisor freezes where he is.

“My…My back,” Noctis pants out, hand reaching up and curling into the cuff of his friend’s shirt. Fresh tears spill down his cheeks and he wonders vaguely if or when he’d stopped crying. “I can’t. _I can’t_.”

“_Noct_,” Ignis chastises mildly. “You told me you were fine.” There’s no heat to the words, just concern and love. He pats the top of the hand clinging to him. “Wait here, I’ll fetch Gladio.”

He’d been wondering where those two were, but then again, the Tomb is pretty small for five people. It’s the same size as the others, just the debris means there’s less space. Noctis stares blankly at the dead hunter, twitching only slightly when Prompto walks in. When a hand touches his shoulder, the opposite one he tried before, Noctis looks sideways to see Prompto’s paler than normal face.

“Shit, Noct,” Prompto says.

Noctis smiles and that earns him a flinch. He swipes his tongue over his bloody teeth then frowns. “’m sorry,” he says even as he starts to list to the side.

Prompto sits next to him, uses his shoulder to keep Noctis propped up. “About what?”

“’bout. ‘bout.” He waves a hand, encompassing the room. “That you had to kill. Again. ‘m sorry.”

His friend sighs, shoulders heaving. Noctis’ head drops to it and he keeps it there even though it pulls at his back something fierce.

“It’s what I signed up for,” Prompto tells the air, not looking at Noctis. “I knew what I was getting into when I signed up to be your Crownsguard. I would do anything for you, Noct.”

“Shouldn’t have to.”

Prompto chuckles. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna do it anyway. I love you, dude, and I would probably take on the Astrals myself to keep you safe.” He sobers. “I’d probably that fuck up too, though. Look what happened.”

Noctis shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles. “No. You didn’t.”

He loses a bit of time, because the next thing he knows Gladio’s there, kneeling next to him, arms out in preparation to pick him up. Gladio’s expression is pinched in the same kind of worry the other two are all tangled up in. Noctis smiles, careful to keep his teeth hidden. It doesn’t do anything for the blood smeared across his mouth and down his throat.

“Ready?” his Shield asks.

Noctis barks out a strangled laugh. “No,” he says, “but do it anyway. ’m tired of being in here.”

Gladio puts an arm under his knees first, then around his back. He waits until Noctis nods before pulling him to his chest as he stands. Noctis whines, pressing his face into Gladio’s jacket, hand curling into the fabric over his heart. He feels Gladio press his lips to the crown of his head, whispering an apology.

Ignis and Prompto are talking about the imperials still blocking the straight path. The Regalia is at the Cauthess Rest Station, but the Oathe Haven is closer.

“No Havens,” Noctis groans when Gladio steps them out of the Tomb. They turn at the sound of his voice. “Please.”

They were already thinking it, but Noctis is pretty sure the ‘please’ tipped them over the edge. Gladio shifts him into a better grip. Noctis is unable to keep the choked sob from escaping him. Mercifully, his Shield doesn’t complain about having to carry him all the way to the Station. Even when they have to take an even longer way around when they realize they’d practically crashed through thick brush to get through at one point.

Noctis stares at his knees, shame coloring his cheeks to be brought down this low and to make his friends go through all this trouble.

“Noct,” Gladio says, then stops talking.

He glances up to stare at the underside of his Shield’s chin instead. Prompto’s taken up the rear, gun in hand, while Ignis leads the way. When they make it to the Station, Noctis doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle the trip all the way to Lestallum. It’s so far away.

“Sorry,” he says when Gladio doesn’t start up again.

Gladio sighs, fond and exasperated. “I wish you’d listen to your body when it hits its limits,” he says with a level of gravity that throws Noctis through a loop. “There’s nothing wrong with stopping every now and then.”

“But—.”

He shakes his head. “I know I push. I do, but you know your body best. You need to _tell me_, okay?”

Noctis looks away again, watching Ignis direct them calmly around an area where hundlegs like to make nest. That’s not really what he’s sorry for. A little, yeah, because Gladio _does_ push, but for a good reason. Noctis would rather sleep than train. Would rather play King’s Knight than hunt. He needs a bit of nudging here and there. If Noctis thinks he goes too far, who is he to actually judge that?

What he was apologizing for, was for letting that hunter get the jump on him like he did and putting them in that position.

Gladio scoffs. “Nope,” he says. “Don’t even think about it. It wasn’t your fault.” Noctis looks up at him, surprised. Gladio grins. “What, you don’t think I see what’s workin’ behind those pretty blues of yours?” He laughs lightly as the red on Noctis’ face goes from being caused by shame to embarrassment. Gladio taps his chin on Noctis’ head tenderly. “I love you, Noct, I do. But you need to realize that while you might be a brat, you’re not trouble.”

Noctis pinches his pec for the brat comment, startling another laugh from Gladio. Ignis glances back to see what the commotion is, a smile gracing his own features. It’s been a while since he’s seen Ignis smile.

Ignis doubles back to walk with them. “Think you can hold on for another hour?” he asks both of them. Gladio nods, Noctis frowns.

“I don’t think I’ll make it to Lestallum,” he admits quietly.

Ignis brushes through his hair, Noctis closes his eyes at the sensation. “I have some of that prescription strength painkillers in the trunk still,” he tells him. Noctis considers it, then nods carefully. “You’re probably tired enough it will knock you right out.”

He laughs. “Probably.” He cracks a yawn. “Could probably sleep now, honestly.” Though it wouldn’t be for long, with the jostling and the nightmares he’s sure to have.

“Of course, the princess falls asleep in the handsome knight’s arms.”

“You know what? Prompto, you carry me.”

“What?!”

**Author's Note:**

> This ended way more light hearted than the middle bit would suggest, huh.
> 
> tumblr @mikkalia  
twitter @mik_kal15  



End file.
